


Let's Go Dancing

by whip_pan



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Carwood's sappy, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8429104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whip_pan/pseuds/whip_pan
Summary: Ron is preoccupied with Carwood's suspenders.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://whip-pan.tumblr.com/post/151934451404/hugatreeortwo-carwood-lipton-in-crossroads) giftset by hugatreeortwo and an anon asking for a fic to go along with my tags. Enjoy!

Ron had won their poker game that night, which meant he was five dollars richer and flushed from the extra beer that he had allowed himself as a reward as he slid into Carwood’s lap. 

Ron, while tipsy, became more clingy than they could risk. And so, night after Austrian night, they found each other on the opposite end of the table, Ron’s eyes boring into Carwood’s with an intensity that would feel negative, if not for the way Ron smiled when he took a drag of his cigarette or the delighted way he said Carwood’s name. When they’d started sliding from friendship into whatever the hell they were now - Carwood felt like he was fumbling through some imagined yet nevertheless sticky murk whenever Ron got him alone - Carwood quickly found out that affection, to Ron Speirs, meant being as tactile as gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, only much more welcome, coupled with bewildering indulgence that led him to discover small gifts, cigarettes and cufflinks and the like, stuffed into his pockets. He was having trouble controlling the temptation to ask Ron if he made a habit of pickpocketing as a child, although he suspected that Ron would never have had to stoop that low. 

When you were in the habit of noticing the small things about someone - as Carwood was apt to do for Ron, he watched Ron with a fervor matched only by the way he had watched the line in Bastogne - they became overwhelmingly endearing. So as Ron plucked at Carwood’s suspenders with his fingers and Carwood’s hand found its way to Ron’s hip as if magnetically, he watched Ron bite at his bottom lip and fought the urge to lean in for a kiss. 

He wasn’t drunk. He’d had half a glass of thick German lager before switching over to coffee. He was clearheaded, and Ron obviously wasn’t, because while Nix had gone to find Dick and Harry had stumbled off to bed, they were still in the dining room. 

“Ron,” he said, even as he dropped his hand down to Ron’s thigh, “We’re not alone.”

“Nearly,” Ron said. He tugged on the suspenders firmly. “These are nice.”

“Ron.” But Carwood couldn’t quite manage to to inject any chiding into his tone. 

“No one comes into the dining room,” Ron said. He kissed the underside of Carwood’s jaw. “Come on, I want you in my mouth.”

At the blatant plea, Carwood flushed, remembering a story that Ron told him several weeks ago. Ron had nearly been arrested in a police raid while visiting a club in New York City his first year of college. He’d been forced out into the alleyway while the cop struggled to contain him; to keep from being locked up and having to ask one of his friends to pay bail, he blew the cop, his knees on wet pavement, in handcuffs.

He cupped Ron’s cheek to kiss him, feeling dizzy with the way Ron sighed into his mouth. His other hand found Ron’s belt buckle; when he brushed the fabric below, Ron jerked and tugged on his suspenders again. But he stopped himself, despite the urge to grind the heel of his hand against Ron’s cock. This wasn’t even Ron’s billet, nor his - it belonged to Nix, and Nix had been gone long enough, he could stumble in at any moment. “We need to go,” he said, kissing Ron again. And again. In all four times before he tried to stand, but Ron just clung tighter. 

“Let’s lock the door.”

“Does the door even have a lock?”

“Yes,” Ron said, in a voice that indicated Carwood ought to know this already. He let Carwood up, and in the two seconds it took for Carwood to find the lock, managed to situate himself on his knees in front of the chair. 

The sight of it wasn’t exactly new now, but Carwood still stopped and stared. Despite the position, despite the rumple of his clothes and the high points of flush on his cheeks, the soft curve of his lips, he looked fierce, about ready to drag Carwood over if he didn’t come himself. Before they’d started sleeping together, he wouldn’t have guessed that Ron even liked men in this way, much less delighted in giving his partner the lion’s share of control. But now he knew better, so he merely sat down, spread his legs apart, and reached out to press Ron’s face against his crotch. 

Ron sighed, pressing a kiss to the bulge underneath Carwood’s pants. “The door?” he asked, looking up. 

“Locked.” Carwood slid his hand through Ron’s hair. He liked the way it felt on his fingers, same as he liked the sureness of Ron’s mouth and the way Ron’s eyes looked green in sunlight. Ron grinned, tilting his head up for a kiss, which Carwood gave him, tasting the beer on his breath mixed in with the cigarettes. 

He watched as Ron undid his belt and pants and went to work on his zipper. “Are you sure?” he asked. The alcohol on Ron’s breath had been very strong. 

“Yes,” Ron said promptly. His lips found the head of Carwood’s cock, still tucked away in his underwear, and sucked lightly. Carwood’s cock twitched, which made Ron do it again. He worked Carwood’s clothes halfway down his thighs and by degrees, coaxed Carwood’s passing interest into a pressing concern. Not that Carwood claimed to have a lot of experience, but he’d never been able to get it up so decisively before Ron. They’d barely started, but he already felt close to exploding. When Ron took him halfway into his mouth, Carwood muffled a groan and dragged him closer. 

“Sorry,” he said reflexively, but Ron merely worked Carwood further down his throat. He pressed up against him like he hated the thought of there being any space between them, and once Carwood got the hint, he squeezed his thighs against Ron’s shoulders, keeping Ron trapped between them. 

He shut his eyes and visibly relaxed. Carwood stroked his hand down Ron’s cheek. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “Just a little more.”

Despite his efforts, his voice sounded loud to his ears. He resisted the urge to look over at the door, secure in the knowledge that they were alone. He’d kept silent the first time Ron blew him, unsure if Ron would want him to bring any attention to what they were doing, but by now he’d learned better. Ron took his encouragement as instruction; with his cock fully entrapped in the wet heat of Ron’s mouth, he had to fight to keep himself from bucking. When Ron got used to the sensation and started to suck in earnest, Carwood rewarded him with a sharp tug on his hair. He made what would have been a whimper if he could speak, and while Carwood missed the noise, he was grateful that he didn’t have to remind him to be quiet. 

He felt hot all over, his body taut from the effort of skirting the edge but not quite reaching it yet. He thought he knew what Ron was angling for; it was the way this ended up nine times out of ten. 

“Baby,” he said, “can I?” 

Ron opened his eyes, which served as more of an answer than anything he might’ve said, so Carwood rose to his feet, careful to keep Ron still, and fucked his mouth.

He bit his lip to keep from making noise, staring down at Ron, who was struggling to keep his eyes open. The flush on his cheeks was more pronounced now, as if he was aroused from head to toe, and spit made his mouth and chin messy. He had a hand down his pants, moving in time with Carwood’s thrusts. 

Carwood seized up, fighting the urge to come. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of this particular sight. Pulling out just enough to finish into Ron’s mouth was a struggle, but a worthwhile one; he gasped at the way Ron shuddered, the hand on his cock unmoving, content to let Carwood use him. Getting off on it, in fact.

“Fuck,” he said softly. “Ron, Jesus.”

He hauled Ron up and kissed him deeply, savoring the bitter taste of himself. He loved kissing Ron like this, mixing come and spit together, knowing how buzzed Ron’s lips were. He bit down on the bottom one, huffing out a laugh when that earned him a moan. Ron wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling on his suspenders, and ground their hips together. 

He slid a hand into Ron’s pants and stroked over his cock. Ron moaned again, loud enough that he quickly kissed away the next one. He jerked him off roughly, with the straightforwardness that Ron liked best, pleased to feel Ron’s muffled cries against his lips. It made him want to fuck Ron; they’d only done it that way a few times, but already he was addicted to the noises that spilled from Ron’s lips. The snug heat of him. The way his back arched when Carwood thrust deeply. He pressed his thumb against Ron’s hole, just barely pressing in, and the mere suggestion of more was enough to make Ron come on a hoarse cry. 

“Carwood,” he whined when he caught his breath, accusatory in a way that Carwood had learned to interpret the other way around; he was happy to have the contact and craved more, despite the sensitivity. He dropped his forehead down to Carwood’s shoulder, crowding close, letting Carwood run a hand from his neck to the base of spine and lower to squeeze his ass. He was trembling. Carwood gently tilted up his head for another kiss, and they stood like that for a moment, just leaning on each other, before they set themselves to rights. 

Normally this was the bit where Carwood chuffed Ron lightly, teasing him for getting so sleepy - if they were in bed and had a few hours to spare, Ron usually curled up against Carwood and fell into a deep sleep, guarding him like a dog with a bone - but something else beckoned. 

“Why now?” he asked. He was still touching Ron greedily - tucking in his shirt, brushing his hair back, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his ear for absolutely no reason besides the fact it made him shiver. He’d feel silly but for the fact that Ron was doing the same exact thing, running his open palms down Carwood’s shirt, curling his hands around those suspenders, kissing him so determinedly that Carwood nearly forgot he’d asked a question. 

“What’d you mean?” Ron finally said.

“Why not wait until we had more privacy?” Carwood’s hands found their way to Ron’s hips. He swayed back and forth like he was about to lead them in a dance. They’d never danced together, although Ron had mentioned that he knew of a club back in the States that he thought Carwood would like. Carwood’s dancing left a lot to be desired, but he’d seen Ron dance and had to admit he seemed a natural at it, like most things physical. 

“Why are you smiling?” Ron said. “I haven’t even answered yet.”

Carwood ducked his head, unable to school his smile into something acceptable. If Nix was to be believed, Ron had taken formal lessons. “No reason. What were you going to say?”

“Carwood.”

Carwood was beginning to doubt he’d ever get a lie past Ron. “I was just imagining you dancing.” 

Ron laughed. “Does that mean you’re going to let me take you out when we get home?” 

“If you insist.”

“Oh, I insist.” Ron grinned. “While you’re wearing suspenders, of course.” 

Carwood gave him a quizzical look. “They’re why I couldn’t wait,” Ron continued, snapping the suspenders with his forefingers. “I kept wanting to use ‘em to drag you into a kiss. Made it hard to concentrate.” 

Carwood flushed. “I don’t really need them.”

“So?” Ron said. He used them to pull Carwood close and kissed him, nuzzling against his cheek. “They suit you.”

Whatever lasciviousness Ron had been cultivating evaporated with the careful kiss he pressed to Carwood’s jaw. Carwood impulsively dipped him over backwards, in the way of movie stars, and kissed him. One kiss became several all over his face, feather-light, until he burst out laughing and pushed Carwood away. 

Not that Carwood had ever been dispassionate, but he’d never done that sort of thing to anyone before. Such a gesture had never occurred to him. Ron, by the very act of being himself, lit up parts of Carwood he hadn’t even known existed. 

“I’ll wear them when we go dancing,” he said, and he liked the sound of that.


End file.
